Replacement

My neighbor left the cloth on the line.

Three days now. It's coming apart.

The muslin is so thin

you can almost see through it.

The edges are fraying.

Threads coming loose from repeated washing.

She walks past it every morning.

She doesn't take it down.

That tells me something.

Not something I want to know.

But something about how she's managing.

Or not managing. About replacement

being a word that doesn't apply right now.

About keeping what you have

until it falls apart completely.

About not replacing it when it does.

The cloth is faded.

The stitching is coming undone at the corners.

It's been used so many times

the weave itself is loosening.

She'll leave it up there

until it's destroyed. Then she'll

probably use something else.

A towel. A t-shirt. Something already broken

that she can afford to break further.

The cloth will fall off the line

one morning. She won't pick it up.

It will be gone. She won't replace it.